Boys Of Brooklyn
by AmbrLupin
Summary: Brooklyn aint for the weak hearted, and its true there are some bad people there. But Spot Conlon’s done a good job protecting his turf. So what happens when rumors start going around about a murderer in HIS Brooklyn?
1. The name's Spot

Boys Of Brooklyn

Chapter One: The name's Spot

By: Ambrlupin

Rated: T (REALLY!)

Disclaimer: The only people I own are those you don't recognize.

A/N: Race's past is MINE, do you hear me? If I find someone using my ideas, I will soak you, and I am not joking. I wrote this story, and I claim all little plot-holes and pasts I wish. Race and Spot's pasts ARE MINE. I will only say this once, but this will stay up here as a reminder. I aint having NO MORE OF MY IDEAS TAKEN, okay? Okay.

Summary: Brooklyn aint for the weak hearted, and its true there are some bad people there. But Spot Conlon's done a good job protecting his turf. So what happens when rumors start going around about a murderer in HIS Brooklyn?

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_Spot's POV_

The name is Spot Conlon. Not Spottie, and NOT kid. You call me either one of those names and you're asking for me to soak you. And trust me, I'd be happy to oblige. Just give me a time and a place.

Or if you'd prefer, we can lay it down right then and there.

I may only be fourteen, and I may have only been leader for a little under a year, but I can take care of myself and my boys. I'm not a wimp, I can fight, and be prepared to get your face knocked in if you start something on my turf. You hear me? I only have five simple rules and I think they are quite reasonable.

One, don't mess with me.

Two, don't mess with my boys, cause that would be messing with me.

Three, don't mess with Brooklyn, cause that's messing with me.

Four, break these rules, and answer to me.

Five, don't answer to me and be prepared to get your rear handed to you.

Get it? Five simple rules, five simple guidelines that you have to follow if you are to live anywhere on my territory. Men, women, children, newsies, scabs, they all listen to me. They all respect me. Ya know why?

Cause im Spot Conlon, that's why-

"Hey, Kid!"

I sigh a little, skipping a few lines in the small book of paper one of my men had given me, my hand moving as I waved to get my caller's attention, the ink slightly blotching as I tried to keep my attention on two things at once.

I take that back. There is only one person who can call me 'kid' and get away with it. Red basically raised me, saved me from my Hell. He is my father, my brother, in more ways than one, the only man I had ever sworn allegiance to.

Sworn allegiance to him, the last leader of Brooklyn.

Behind the boy's backs he had trained me, trained me to take over from him when he thought it was time. I guess he thought it was time about ten months ago. My fingers absently stroked the cane at my side.

That had been a gift from Red, handed personally to me with the land of Brooklyn as a witness. The gold-tipped cane was the flag of our land, held by each and every one of our leaders, the only difference in the way it came to me, was the fact leadership was usually won in a fight.

Not handed to a young kid.

"Hey, Red." I greeted with a slight grin, "Aint you got papes to sell?"

The tall red-head raised his eyebrow as he plopped down next to me on the docks, hanging his legs over the side. "Such a hypocrite, kid. Don't you have papes to sell too?"

"Sold em all." I leaned back, closing the book and reaching over to snag the cigarette hanging from the elder's hand. "Really, Red, why do you even ask?"

He shrugged, "Father's duty, Spot."

I snorted, taking a drag and exhaling slowly, watching the smoke drift up into the afternoon sky. It was quiet, for once. Only the slight cry of the gulls and the lapping of the water. It was peaceful, a rarity in these parts.

"Got sometin on your mind?"

I looked over at him, but as always, his face was darn near unreadable. Even for me. So I put on my best poker face and looked at him cooly. "Why would you think that?"

He chuckled under his breath, "Cut it out, that face don't work on me. I can still read you like a friggin book." He whipped out another cigarette for himself because he knew that once I had my hands on one, I wasn't giving it back.

"Hn." I chose not to comment and turned back to look across the water. A few bottles caught my eye, drifting lazily almost out of sight near the other docks. A slight smile twisted my lips and a pulled my slingshot, carefully aiming before I let the rock fly.

Straight on target, as always. It shattered one of the bottles, the remains sinking to the bottom. "Serves em right, leaving trash in MY river."

"Cleanin up, kid?" Red asked as he lazily took a shot and sunk two at once with one pebble. "Mind if I help a bit?" Did I mention Red taught me to shoot, too?

"Youse already made yourself right at home, why do ya need to ask me?" I broke another.

Red lowered his slingshot just a little, turning toward me just a little. His eyes were cool, but for once I saw a little past them, into what truly made him up. I only wanted a peek.

However, once I did, I couldn't look away.

He opened his mouth as he turned back, his profile lit by the side, his hair blazing crimson. "Cause youse the leader, Spot."

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"Hey Spot! Im HOME!" A voice cried as the doors to my lodging house busted wide open, revealing the last person I really wanted to see at the moment. Or well, ever, really.

I somehow managed to keep my groan from being too loud, but Red heard it and snickered under his breath as he raised a hand, waving him over. "How's it goin, Race?"

"Same ol' same ol'." The Manhattan newsie smirked as he talked around his cigar, waving to those around the room that called out to him. Ignoring me, of course. Not that I wasn't used to such a thing, but it tended to get annoying after a while.

Especially after what he had done to me.

You see, Race had once been a Brooklyn newsie, a while ago when I was just a kid and didn't know any better than to make friends with a dirty traitor. Not that anyone could have foreseen that Race would leave us.

I, least of all, thought he would up and disappear like he had. We didn't even know if he was alive or what, and probably wouldn't have known for years upon years if I hadn't seen him one day, selling papes on the edge of Brooklyn.

Broke my heart, that did. As innocent, and yes I was at one point, as I had been then, I couldn't wrap my mind around why my best friend, my big brother would just up and leave without a word, without a warning.

Without even a goodbye.

He turned to me, and like every time, I had the greatest urge to break his head in, to demand he tell me what he was thinking, to tell me what the heck had made him leave his home behind for Manhattan. But with that also came the urge to cry, to hug him like I was a child again, and cry my heart out.

But I was a leader, and leader's most definitely did NOT do that.

Racetrack Higgins was many things, but an easy person to read he was not. A great poker player, with or without cheating, but he wasn't above...improving his odds, he had one heck of a poker face, and that was what I was looking at tonight.

What I almost always looked at. Those calm, collected eyes, and that playful smirk on those lips. I felt myself slip into my own stoic calmness and returned the smirk, just like always.

It was a game, really. A game that we had learned to play, and had become masters at it.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Higgins?"

Race shrugged, chewing his cigar with a thoughtful look on his face. "I was thinking we could start up a poker game. What do you think, Conlon?" He lifted his head a little, that smirk still on his face. "Feel up to losin ya money?"

I snorted, getting to my feet. My boys instantly fell quiet as my eyes roamed over them all, and then I moved, toe-to-toe with the Manhattan boy, the gold-end of my cane pushing against his chest so that he had no choice but to back up.

I felt more than saw Red get up behind me. He was afraid I'd hurt Race, but I didn't really feel like soaking anyone tonight. Actually, what I wanted...

I gave him one hard push and he toppled over to land in a chair, blinking wide eyes at me. For a second he was stunned and then he grinned, nodding his head a little at me. I had broken his poker face, "You win, Conlon."

I grinned, tapping the top of the table just to his left as I took the chair on the opposite side. "Deal me in, Higgins."

The room exploded in whistles as a few of the elder boys began to jump over others to grab seats at the table. It was a first come first serve policy in this house, you either fought for what you wanted, or you lost it.

That's how it works here in Brooklyn.

Why?

Because Spot Conlon said so.

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So, how was it? I liked it. -grin- Anyways, use that little button on the bottom left of your screen that says 'submit review' and drop me a line. Tell me what you think and ill get to work on the next chapter!


	2. Rules o’ bettin

Boys Of Brooklyn

Chapter Two: Rules o' bettin

By: Ambrlupin

Rated: T (REALLY!)

Disclaimer: The only people I own are those you don't recognize.

A/N: Race's past is MINE, do you hear me? If I find someone using my ideas, I will soak you, and I am not joking. I wrote this story, and I claim all little plot-holes and pasts I wish. Race and Spot's pasts ARE MINE. I will only say this once, but this will stay up here as a reminder. I aint having NO MORE OF MY IDEAS TAKEN, okay? Okay.

Summary: Brooklyn aint for the weak hearted, and its true there are some bad people there. But Spot Conlon's done a good job protecting his turf. So what happens when rumors start going around about a murderer in HIS Brooklyn?

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_"Like this?" _

_Race laughed as he leaned over and rearranged the kid's grip on the cards, "Stop trying to choke them, Spot. They aint gonna fight back ya know." _

_The kid laughed as he let his grip loosen a bit. The cards almost immediately fell and he growled, his hand snapping them back up. Racetrack winced a little as he gently took them from his hand. _

_"These are good cards, okay?" He gently began to bend them back to shape, "Can we please try and keep them in semi-good condition?" _

_"Sorry, Race." He mumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly, "Im just not going to be any good at this poker stuff." _

_The elder smiled a bit, "Naw, that aint true. Come on, one more hand and then you can go if you want." He moved a little so he was more comfortable on the bed, dealing out the cards with the practice of a master. _

_Spot fumbled for his hand, somehow managing to get them the way the other had told him. His eyes brightened and a wide grin split his face. "I did it! I did it!" _

_He got a smile and a hair ruffle, "Yeah, ya did, Spot. Im proud of you."_

_(Spot's POV_)

I clenched my teeth slightly as I failed to erase the memory from my mind. I was usually better at this, but with Race sitting a table-length away...I guess it made it just a bit harder. He had taught me poker, taught me to lie, to steal too actually.

He couldn't help a slight smile from crossing his face. Red had been less than thrilled about that certain talent, he recalled, especially after he had nearly landed himself in the refuge on more than one occasion.

That was the last place I wanted to be at. They controlled you there, everything you said, everything you did, they were standing over you like some sort of god. I had already had my share of that, and didn't need any more of it, thank you very much.

Red took care of the actual leader-stuff, but the one thing they had done together, come to think of it, was to teach me to read and write. Each of them took a hand in that, making sure everything was right and they weren't making any mistakes. Race had even broken into a school in Staten to get some textbooks to study off of.

That had been the only time Race had stolen something in full view of Red, and not gotten yelled at for it. Even now, when Racetrack was a Manhattan newsie, if Red caught him stealing, or heard about it...

"Conlon!"

My head jerked up and I came face to face with the traitor himself. Race looked concerned, _darn him_, and he frowned, "Are you feelin all right, Conlon? I must have called you like ten times! Its your turn."

"Im fine." I snapped, looking down at my hand. It was my turn already? Where had the time gone...and what had everyone else done? For all I know, they might have been looking over my shoulders while I wasn't looking.

I had an okay hand, nothing spectacular, just an average hand. But I raised anyway. It was all in the poker face and the bluff in poker. You see, it wasn't necessarily what you have, but what your opponents _think_ you have.

My boys looked around a bit, but a few of them bit it. Race would, I knew. He had that look in his eyes, and I was more than willing to help him find that challenge he was apparently looking for.

"Raise you again." He murmurred, flicking his cigar.

In less than two turns we lost all but one other person. Once more it came around, and once more Race and I raised the pot even higher. One of us was going down, but the thing was, we were both two stubborn to admit defeat

Suddenly, it wasn't just about poker.

Red snorted and threw down his hand, "Forget that, boys. You two have at."

Race smirked, "Can ya take the heat, Conlon?" He played with the change he had left, clicking it slightly with his fingers. Intimidating to everyone.

Everyone but me. "Play with fire, Higgins, and you're gonna get burned." I threw in some more money, twice what we had been betting. It was a foolish move, and I knew it the minute everyone gasped in shock.

But I was tired of getting beaten. Especially by Racetrack Higgins.

The Italian boy looked at me in slight surprise. "That's a lot of money."

"So it is." I took a drag on a cigarette, "Backin out now?"

He smirked and threw in his own money, "Not at all."

_"All right." Race sat cross-legged on the bed, "Whats the rule in poker?" _

_Spot glanced up with a surprised look, "Which one?" _

_He chuckled a bit, "Smart kid. All right, how bout the bettin' rule?" _

_"Only bet what you know youse can afford. Never put too much money in de pot, cause if you do, it'll be hard to back out of it if you get a bad hand..." He frowned, trying to remember the last bit of important information. _

_Race sat there, a soft smile on his face. He knew the kid would get it, he just had to give him a second, that was all. "And the last one?" He prompted. _

_"The last one..." He looked down and played with the cards, his lips turned into a small frown, "The last one is..." _

_Suddenly a smile lit his face and his head jerked up proudly, "The last rule of betting is, never, ever, get foolish with your money!"_

_The elder laughed, "That it is, Spot. That it is." _

Right now, all I wanted to do is make Race eat his own words, even if they were from so long ago. I had quite enough playing around, and the pot could only get higher. I threw in the last of my money, tapping my foot in the silence.

Race was close to breaking out in sweat, I could see it. Pride wouldn't allow him to back out now, but his wallet was starting to clean out real fast. The elder boys usually saved up for poker nights, and Race usually took the table every time, cleaning out Brooklyn and Manhattan alike, but this one game had nearly cleaned him out.

He gulped a little, I could literally see the fear in his eyes before a calmness seemed to talk a hold of him and an iron gate slammed down just behind his eyes. He looked down at the last of his money, and pushed it all toward the table among slight gasps.

"Rule number one o' bettin, Conlon." He murmurred, as he tapped the bottom of his cards on the shining top of the table. "Only bet what youse can afford."

Rage slipped through me, but the only indication was the slight tensing of my muscles and the way my fingers tightened ever so slightly around the cards. I wanted to rip them up into tiny pieces and pitch them over the side of the bridge, but more than that...

More than that, I wanted...

"Youse is breaking your own rule, Higgins."

I wanted to get even, at least this once.

"Flip em over already!" Red cried with a slight laugh, pushing me lightly in the shoulder, "We aint gettin any younger here!"

Race and I looked at each other from across the table, eyes locking. There was a small fortune sitting right in front of us, and neither cared. This wasn't about the money, at least, not anymore.

I flipped my cards over, and he did the same, but as entire room leaned over to see the hands, the front door burst wide, the light illuminating one of the younger newsies who stood in the doorway.

"Spot! SPOT!" He yelped, running inside and nearly careening into a few bodies. It was Trip, a little kid with ebony hair. He had an older twin by the name 'Fall'. "_SPOT_!"

"What?" I was already on my feet, already moving. Forget the game, forget Race, this was my boy, calling for my help. "What is it, Trip?"

He landed on his hands and knees right in front of me, staring up with eyes full of fear, tears cascading down his face. "Spot...its horrible..."

Red and I knelt by his side, shushing him and wiping away his tears. He was only eight for God's sake! "What is horrible, Trip?" Red asked softly, smoothing back his hair, "What did you see, kid?"

He shivered lightly and buried his head against my chest, believe it or not. "Its Fall...Oh god, Spot! Fall's dead! FALL'S DEAD!" He screamed, sobbing. "FALL'S DEAD!"

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I don't really like this one. Oh well. Leave me a review and tell me what you think. Use the button on the bottom left and drop me a line.


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